Half Blood Kin
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: Two nights changed his life. One, where he created a son. The other, when he was forced to leave him. Events will be placed back into his control - and on this night, his life will change once more. Severus/Harry - Severitus. Rated T for angst, suspense and child abuse. AU


**Half Blood Kin**

**_by the Half Mad Muggle_**

_Two nights changed his life. One, where he created a son. The other, when he was forced to leave him. Events will be placed back into his control - and on this night, his life will change once more. Severus/Harry - Severitus (where Harry is Severus' biological son - I know it's an abstract idea, but never mind. It's exploration). Rated T for angst and child abuse._

* * *

**Author's Note and Introduction: **

You may consider this a whole new direction for me - and in some ways, you would be right. However, my representation of Severus has always had a fatherly overtone, and indeed, I have explored it before. But this is my first real project. It is inspired by a role play I am honoured to participate in - the light of my life plays opposite me, and the amount of emotion is...unbelievable. I have learned so much from them, and this is written in their honour.

The story is rated for angst and the suspense that will begin to filter into the later chapters, but also for child abuse - both of Harry and a young Severus. The story begins in 1989, where Severus is 29 and Harry is eight, soon to turn nine. Harry, for his part, lives at the Dursleys - and Severus inhabits Spinner's End during the summer holidays, and teaches Potions at Hogwarts during the...well, not summer holidays.

Enjoy, my friends, enjoy. Please review if you have time and have comments to make - I'd love to see what people think of my new direction. Yours, always, the Half Mad Muggle.

* * *

**Chapter One:**

He had been a virgin. That night, in late 1979. He had been nineteen. So many mistakes, made in the process of two years. Every one haunted his nightmares. He had also been foolish. Never had he allowed passion and emotion to rule his head - or his hands - and yet. That night, in late 1979. A mistake. A thoughtless moment. A lapse.

It had been just one night, little more than two hours when he considered it fully, a fraction of his life to that date, to this date, and to every date yet to come. He poured another beaker of Firewhiskey and stared absently into the fire, curling his fingers around the glass and tapping a soft, chinking rhythm with his fingernails. Those two hours had led to a letter, nine months later. A letter. He still had it, tucked away into his bedside table under lock and key, charm and curse, his greatest secret. If anyone were to find it, to learn it, it would be his destruction.

_Dear Severus._

The first line of the letter had been cold, unfeeling. He had expected as much. It was the complete opposite of how that night had been - where pleasure and warmth and touch and emotion had thundered through both their veins - to receive such an icy letter had chilled his very heart. He had almost refused to read on. But a particular word had caught his attention.

_Son._

He sipped the Firewhiskey, let the liquid linger on his tongue and palate, tickling and infiltrating, before swallowing. There was a slight burning to the back of his throat, and he relished it.

_The child is your son. Not James'. _

His son? He put the beaker down. His hands trembled in an echo of how they had trembled, all those years ago. He remembered the uncomfortable twist in his stomach, the sudden coldness in his chest, and the trembling of his hands. A son. A child. His child.

_I do not want to see you, ever again. You will not be allowed near my son. His name is Harry, after James' ancestor. Harry James Potter. I am telling you this simply because you have a right to know. If you come near us, I will tell the Ministry what is burned into your left arm._

And she did not wish to see him. Such hateful words. He had never expected them from her - she had always been good and kind and loving - yet these words - blackmail - demands - loathing -

_Good bye, Severus_.

They had said good bye before. More times than he cared to count. But those words seem to etch themselves into his heart, and leave a true scar. He exhaled and stood, leaning by the mantlepiece and fingering the wooden grooves, thoughts still distracted. She had told him about his son - Harry - and then cut him off completely. He had never tried to search for Harry - it was too dangerous - he had already made his decision to betray the one who had tarnished his left arm, but there were those who would never trust him.

He closed his eyes.

Halloween. 1981.

Lily and James Potter had died. The Dark Lord Voldemort had been destroyed. Four days later, Severus Snape had been taken into custody, awaiting trial and imprisoned in Azkaban. The Wizarding World rejoiced - they had found a new saviour. The Death-Eaters were caught and imprisoned - some survived, others did not, and Severus spent two months in prison before he was pardoned and freed and began life again, teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Halloween, 1981, had changed the world - a boy, a child, an infant, had changed the world.

Halloween 1981 was also the first, last, and only time Severus had seen his son with his own eyes. He had ventured to the house in the ashes of destruction, hooded and cloaked, before the Order of the Phoenix and the crumpling Ministry for Magic had time to react to what had happened.

He remembered.

_Thirteen stairs, to the upper floor. He had stepped over the body of James Potter, glassy eyes staring up into his face, accusing him but never to speak, nor bully, nor torment him again. He felt no triumph, but he felt no pity. In 1981, Severus had been incapable of feeling emotions - or so he had thought._

_A child's cry._

_Not just any child._

_Something in that sound had ripped a hole in his chest, and he thought for a moment he could be truly bleeding. There was heat at the back of his eyes and he leaned on the wall to steady himself. He felt dizzy, confused, shaken - and all the while, the child screamed in fear and distress - and he just knew one thing. In that second, he could only do one thing. He needed to hold the boy. _

_The bedroom was where the Dark Lord and Lily Potter had perished. One body remained, amongst splintered wood and ripped wallpaper. Toys and games lay scattered - innocence lost - childhood ruined - her green eyes were closed and her red hair was soft, still, caressing her skin - she could have been sleeping amongst the rubble - the cot to her left..._

Severus closed his eyes. He turned from the fireplace. He inhaled sharply and tried to clear the images from his mind. Why did they have to be permanently attached to the back of his eyelids - when he blinked, every closing of his eyes - he saw the boy in the cot, the baby, his child, stare at him and whimper. Whimper in fear, confusion, hunger, cold - knowing his mother was dead but not understanding - that _whimper _was there, between his ears -

_He reached into the child's bed and lifted him. He held the sobbing baby close to his chest, cradling him in his arms, rocking slightly where he stood - an innate ability, some knowledge that was engrained into his arms and his torso rather than his mind - he soothed Harry softly, shushing him, a mantra that it would be all right, that everything would be fine, that he did not have to be frightened._

_In his father's arms, Harry Potter quietened. His cries faded into soft breaths and a tiny hand brushed Severus' dark robes. And there, amongst the death and destruction and devastation and decay, father and son stared at each other. Severus looked down into eyes that were not unlike his own. Not quite brown - perhaps they were still changing, as all infants' eyes did - but certainly not blue or green._

_And the scar, on his forehead, a scar that would make him famous and infamous, admired and hunted, loved and hated. He swallowed. He could run, now, with the child. He could protect him. But they would never stop chasing him. The Wizarding World would never stop hunting for their saviour, and he could not save Harry from the entire Wizarding World. He knew Albus Dumbledore had made preparations for this child - his child - to be safe and sound._

_Those tiny fingers. He held up his own, his little finger extended - and with something that could have been a laugh, Harry clung to it. Severus heard his own inhale of breath - sharp and uncomfortable - the child was so perfect - no - he had to put him down, he had to put him back..._

He blinked. The dust in this neglected house always irritated his eyes. He turned out the lights in the living room and headed for the upstairs, hand grasping the bannister because his knees felt weak - tired - as if they no longer wished to support his weight. He lowered himself onto the lumpy mattress of a single bed, sitting still. His hands were cold.

_"One day, I will find you. No one will ever hurt you again. Harry Potter." A pause. He had to hide the boy's identity. He pulled out his wand, noticing how the boy did not cry - simply stared at him - oh, the trust and innocence of a child - and muttered a word. The lump in his throat was hard to talk around, but he managed it. "You have your mother's eyes." He watched the irises, suddenly bright green - Lily's eyes, how well he had known them, giving Harry an identity - before lowering him back into the cradle._

The last words his son would hear from his father, "You have your mother's eyes."

Severus had left, and not looked back. The memories were forever there, but he had never thought of going back to find Harry. Until now.

Eight long years had passed. Harry was now eight, approaching his ninth birthday, and Severus was twenty nine. He was welcomed at Hogwarts now, seen as a valuable member of staff, and the summer holidays had just started - the Head of Slytherin House and Potions' Master had watched his young Snakes take home the House Cup for the third year running, and also won the Quidditch Cup - and he had been proud of them. But in those final few weeks, he had been distracted.

There were...whisperings. He was no longer involved in the Death-Eaters and had cut ties with most of them - part of his agreement with Albus Dumbledore, a man Severus had learned to truly respect and care for - only Lucius Malfoy remained and that was more to watch him, rather than to keep a connection to the 'old days'. Draco Malfoy, Lucius' son - who aged with Harry - was also Severus' godson. That was his only connection, bar the faint tattoo on his left arm.

Lord Voldemort had never been truly vanquished - that, Severus was sure of. He pulled back the covers and lay flat, staring up at a cracked ceiling. But now, these whisperings were worrying him - in some of the darker, lower circles of the Wizarding Underworld, those still loyal to the Dark Lord thought the child could help them. They wanted to find him - use him, and his blood, to bring the Dark Lord back.

He turned onto his side and pulled the blankets up over his thin form.

If it was the last thing he did, if he had no chance of surviving, if he would die in the process - it did not matter. If it was the last thing he did, he would find his child and protect him.

Even if he died in the process.


End file.
